


Storms

by assassins_heir (lykxxn)



Category: Assassin's Creed, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/assassins_heir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves her, of this he is sure. But there is a storm brewing. He can feel it in his bones. His friends can feel it too, and he keeps quiet for fear of frightening her. He can’t lose her.<br/>She loves him, of this she is sure. But there is a storm brewing. She can feel it in her bones. Her parents can feel it too, and she keeps quiet for fear of frightening him. She can’t lose him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms

He is shy and hurting, newly thrust into his teenage world. She is bold and sly, strangely drawn to this silent and solemn character. Both a little awkward, both somewhat blunt.

They climb the church roof late in the summer, and stay until the sun sets. He almost holds her hand, but something stops him, and instead he tries to be content with just watching her in the orange sky. She wants nothing more than to touch his lips, his face, but she knows what he is.

Her father finds out that night. He yells at her and tries to keep her away, but she climbs out of the window in the dead of night to meet him.

She knows he’s trying to keep her safe, but she also knows that her teenage love could be of no harm to her. He is not like the others. He is a far cry from the stories of merciless murderers and vicious rapists.

He tells her the truth, all of it, during the Christmas holidays, when he finally gives in to her anger and confusion and tears. She doesn’t believe him, not at first, but she has to stop the cynicism when he turns a leaf into a feather.

It leaves her no less confused, but there is truth in his words and she takes comfort in them.

The next summer is awkward and there is friction on both ends, because she is a woman and he is a man. There is no girl anymore. There is no boy.

He loves her, of this he is sure. But there is a storm brewing. He can feel it in his bones. His friends can feel it too, and he keeps quiet for fear of frightening her. He can’t lose her.

She loves him, of this she is sure. But there is a storm brewing. She can feel it in her bones. Her parents can feel it too, and she keeps quiet for fear of frightening him. She can’t lose him.

They kiss one night, in their usual place on top of the church roof. It is short and sweet, and he will remember it until his dying day. She too, although her memory is too clouded for her to think of very much then.

After that, the visits are longer and more frequent. He is bolder and she is gentler. Confession is awkward but the priests say nothing, simply let them have their young love. It is too precious to be destroyed by men who have sacrificed much for a God they hope will have mercy on the two.

When her father finds out, he says nothing. There is neither approval nor disapproval, all she knows is that the prejudice and hatred is still there. It will never go away. Her father has been fighting for too long.

He can feel the darkness. It is too strong, and if he stays she will surely be hurt. He loves her, and she knows, but if she is hurt then there will only be himself to blame.

She can feel the darkness. It is too strong, and if she stays he will surely be hurt. She loves him, and he knows, but if he is hurt then there will only be herself to blame.

He knows what he has to do. It kills him inside, but he knows they’ll kill her if they ever find her. So he does it.

She wakes with no recollection of him, of togetherness, of each other. He leaves, determined to get her back once everything is over.

The storm takes three of his best friends, two through death and one through betrayal. He doesn’t hesitate to search for her, though the remains of his shattered memories and war-torn mind. She is alone in a busy world, hidden up side streets selling gelato in Italy, and his heart is pounding, because this was what she always wanted.

But she is lonely, and he reaches for her, through the depths of clouded memories inaccessible until now, and she remembers.

The insignia on her necklace stares at him, daring him to question the life he has forced her to choose. But he knows that she was always destined for it. And he can suddenly see exactly why her father hated him, tried to deprive her of him. He did not want the two to meet with blades in their hands and blood on their clothes.

They grow together, slowly at first. Although he has tried to provide her with as many memories as he can, she is still confused. She is detached from his world; she cannot bring herself to understand. Even if she tried, she wouldn’t know where to begin.

They are walks along the river and quiet ‘I love you’s. They are heated arguments and icy ignorance. They are young love and final homecoming.

They marry in the summer, on the day they first met in July. Her father gives her away, and when the two men finally lock eyes, it is not with hatred that her father looks at him, but with acceptance.

She holds his goddaughter with such love that makes him crave a family. He can almost see her a mother, despite her fiery nature.

It is the happiest moment of his life, he swears it, when she is pregnant. She walks around with a glow in her face, and she swears he hasn’t stopped smiling since. They hardly leave each other, and something inside of him says ‘this is it’ and he believes it, for a long time. He believes that this is when his life takes a turn in the right direction, if not for the first time.

The baby comes early. It is a dark, cloudy night, and they are watching the sunset, not from the church roof this time, only through the bedroom window, but it is peaceful nonetheless. She nudges him at the first contraction, and although she doesn’t tell, something feels wrong.

She feels weak, but she keeps pushing. If not for her, then for her baby, and if not for her baby, then for him. She is exhausted and she wonders if she is asleep already, because there hasn’t been a cry yet. His voice wavers as he speaks, the words lost along with her consciousness.

He wants to know what’s going on, but the doctors have told him to wait outside. Why? That’s his wife and son in there, he has to get to her. Is she okay?

Silly question, he knows. She’s not okay.

But his son wasn’t crying, and he knows that isn’t good.

Her mother comes and sits next to him, her hand on his shoulder. He is reminded of his own mother.

Everything hurts him. He is frightened of something he hasn’t been frightened of in ten years. He is frightened of losing someone he loves.

He is crying, he knows, but everything has come crashing down on him without warning.

The last time someone told him ‘dead’, he was fourteen and they’d killed his father, and then his mother had drifted in and out, still mourning, still heartbroken, still lost.

Both of them.

Gone.

Who is he?

He has nothing. He has nothing but some photos and a casket.

Her hands are cold. She is almost a marble statue, and he almost laughs.

She’d have liked that.

The funeral is longer than he wanted. He doesn’t want her parents to go on and on and on, and then they say something he isn’t sure she’d have liked them to say, but it was her destiny and so they have to say it.

He wonders what she’d have become, if it weren’t for him.

They’d have met the way her father worried they would.

On the battlefield, hidden blade sprung from its holster, both uniforms stained with blood. An assassin, standing over him, smiling as she digs the blade further into his neck.

Years pass by. He isn’t sure what he’s fighting for anymore. The piano she used to play lies untouched and dusty in the corner of the living room. He dusts the photograph daily.

She kisses him on the cheek in her wedding dress.

There is another storm. He forgets, for a while.

He is caught in the middle, knowing that this storm will sweep up everything in its grasp.

Someone has stabbed him. There is blood on his uniform, he is choking on his own breath.

He remembers her. She would have done the same to him, had they never met.

He remembers.

There are sunsets on a church roof, and secret kisses underneath a tree, and skinny dipping in a freezing cold lake only to be discovered by the Father only half an hour later. There is love and hope and truth in a world of hatred and despair and lies.

He is faint and cold, and the assassin reaches to stab him again, to end the pain, and he murmurs her name, so he can have the pleasure of saying it just once more.

He murmurs her name, so he can have the pleasure of loving her for the last time.


End file.
